what's left
Lara died the day before we arrived back in Bergville. She was that necessary little bit of silliness that greeted us when we came home every evening, bright blue eyes and fluffy tail held high as a flag for every home on our street that she claimed as her own. The little dog that followed us everywhere we walked, whether we wanted her to or not. People offered money for her, stopping their cars on the highway, the supermarket manager gave her bits of beef. When the sun rose, she pawed at my window and howled to be let inside. She jumped in the bed and tore holes in the blue sheets. The muddy paw prints will stay on the window, as will the hole in the yard from her lengthy snout rubs. I'm not a dog fanatic, but there is less reason to laugh now without her.
Friday, we crossed the border into the country of Lesotho, a tiny island of monarchy enveloped in South Africa. It felt militaristic and cold; we were threatened with arrest three times, and came back through SA singing 'Nkosi sikelel' iAfrika' in our hearts with relief...it was Vusi's first international border crossing, his first time to be questioned like a criminal for being born at the wrong coordinates. Silly to be bullied by a country the size of Maryland, but then little countries have been proven to push around entire continents. The trip was made even more painful in that we've exceeded the 12,800 km allotted by the car rental company; we're well over seven thousand miles, over two trips across the US. It gives an idea of the physical distance between the community and clinics. Two Peace Corps volunteers are set to take over our flat; but they'll be forbidden to drive, because too many people have been killed in road accidents here. It's hard to imagine how they'll possibly be able to do anything; we ended up learning to drive stick on the opposite side of the road out of necessity, because sometimes the ambulance just doesn't come. And I hope they've got two and a half years worth of really good books, because there's no nightlife for hours around...
Drawn out goodbyes and the guilt of leaving are making the thought of going home all the better. All of the shouting at our loved ones through crackling phone connections and fickle internet access will not be missed. But the best thing that came from this communication isolation was the rare opportunity to focus solely on the present situation, being unable to obsess over the future. Day to day survival is still the name of the game here, as it always has been. Taxi service interruptions, missed appointments at clinics, missed refills on pills...these are the predators that have replaced the lions and rhinos now behind electric wire in game reserves. D. has the alarm watch, the calendar, the will to adhere, and the support of her bright, attentive sister. MamMlangeni's family has the continued support of her sister-in-law, but sustained financial support for the children will be the biggest obstacle without MamMlangeni's pension.
We both feel that this is the best thing that we've done, so far. In the worst possible scenario, everyone would have died. In the best, everyone would have lived. We ended up in between. Regardless of the outcome, the film would tell a story, and it has become a little more realistic than the optimistic we were shooting for. It will still be positive and hopeful, not just another passive gaze at the suffering of others, ranting off statistics and leaving you feeling even more isolated and helpless in the situation; besides, nobody wants to spend an hour and a half of their free time watching that. It will clarify the obstacles to halting the epidemic, why successful solutions in other countries can't work here, and what does work and what is being done to encourage or discourage that. The whole picture is so overwhelming that you can easily sink into feeling disillusioned and bitter, but it seems to be in isolating the little steps to stopping things that you can manage to make progress. The lasting activists I admire accomplish so much more at the grassroots.
And it will be a visual-audio-sensory feast...
Friday, we crossed the border into the country of Lesotho, a tiny island of monarchy enveloped in South Africa. It felt militaristic and cold; we were threatened with arrest three times, and came back through SA singing 'Nkosi sikelel' iAfrika' in our hearts with relief...it was Vusi's first international border crossing, his first time to be questioned like a criminal for being born at the wrong coordinates. Silly to be bullied by a country the size of Maryland, but then little countries have been proven to push around entire continents. The trip was made even more painful in that we've exceeded the 12,800 km allotted by the car rental company; we're well over seven thousand miles, over two trips across the US. It gives an idea of the physical distance between the community and clinics. Two Peace Corps volunteers are set to take over our flat; but they'll be forbidden to drive, because too many people have been killed in road accidents here. It's hard to imagine how they'll possibly be able to do anything; we ended up learning to drive stick on the opposite side of the road out of necessity, because sometimes the ambulance just doesn't come. And I hope they've got two and a half years worth of really good books, because there's no nightlife for hours around...
Drawn out goodbyes and the guilt of leaving are making the thought of going home all the better. All of the shouting at our loved ones through crackling phone connections and fickle internet access will not be missed. But the best thing that came from this communication isolation was the rare opportunity to focus solely on the present situation, being unable to obsess over the future. Day to day survival is still the name of the game here, as it always has been. Taxi service interruptions, missed appointments at clinics, missed refills on pills...these are the predators that have replaced the lions and rhinos now behind electric wire in game reserves. D. has the alarm watch, the calendar, the will to adhere, and the support of her bright, attentive sister. MamMlangeni's family has the continued support of her sister-in-law, but sustained financial support for the children will be the biggest obstacle without MamMlangeni's pension.
We both feel that this is the best thing that we've done, so far. In the worst possible scenario, everyone would have died. In the best, everyone would have lived. We ended up in between. Regardless of the outcome, the film would tell a story, and it has become a little more realistic than the optimistic we were shooting for. It will still be positive and hopeful, not just another passive gaze at the suffering of others, ranting off statistics and leaving you feeling even more isolated and helpless in the situation; besides, nobody wants to spend an hour and a half of their free time watching that. It will clarify the obstacles to halting the epidemic, why successful solutions in other countries can't work here, and what does work and what is being done to encourage or discourage that. The whole picture is so overwhelming that you can easily sink into feeling disillusioned and bitter, but it seems to be in isolating the little steps to stopping things that you can manage to make progress. The lasting activists I admire accomplish so much more at the grassroots.
And it will be a visual-audio-sensory feast...
posted by esy casey at 6:14 AM
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